—31— Wyatt #2
While literally hugging a potted fern to her chest, she twists her eyes onto me.
“Just ‘cause my grandson’s dating him doesn’t mean I know everything going on in that young man’s head.
” She winks at me, as if I’m expected to know what that means, then takes herself to the counter for Cash to ring her up.
It’s more than suspicious.
It’s obvious.
Everyone has their excuse for why their purchase definitely has nothing to do with helping out my business.
One woman needs centerpieces for an event six months away.
Another buys flowers for her dining room table because: “I’ve decided I deserve them.”
Marybeth from the clinic insists they will need weekly flower arrangements for the office because: “Ain’t goin’ to the doctor just dreary enough?”
At one point, I rush behind the counter to grab more cards to replace a stack in the front I just ran out of, and Cash hisses at me, “I think we’re under attack, Mr. C!”
I don’t know how to handle this.
How to accept this.
I should be grateful, but I’m bombarded with the instinct to apologize to every last person who comes in.
I didn’t want the town’s charity.
“No,” says Cash the second I’m about to take over the register to offer a discount to Miss Herring, whose huge order just swelled to three digits. “You just spent the last three days fixing the prices. Don’t go cutting them down and sabotaging yourself again.”
“But everyone’s just … h-helping too much.”
“Then let them.”
I stare back at him, unsure whether to be scared or impressed. Then I look over at Miss Herring, who smiles sweetly before Cash finishes ringing her up.
Then the next customer. And the next.
This is how the rest of the day carries on: one smiling face at a time, and a whole lot of musical noise at that register.
I stay open an hour and a half late to accommodate the rush.
My fingers are sore and unusually worn by stubborn thorns and stems. My back aches something fierce.
Then Cash and I are alone again, standing at the door, numb.
“Is this gonna happen tomorrow, too?” asks Cash, blinking.
“I think I’m gonna need to hire you full-time,” I mumble back.
“Okay,” he says, exhausted. Then he looks at me. “Does this mean the shop’s saved? Are you rolling in dough now?”
I tallied it up. Made calculations. “Today was a great day.” I let out a light little sigh. “But … I don’t know if this kind of intensity is sustainable. I’m happy for the rush of business today, don’t get me wrong, but …”
“But it’s just a temporary help.”
“Something like that,” I confirm.
“You still need big guns,” he says.
I slowly nod. “I still need big guns.”
“Don’t sweat it, Mr. C. You’ll get your big guns. Promise.” Cash slaps me on the back with startling strength. “We’ll get you the whole dang arsenal.”
I smile back tiredly.
That night, I fall asleep so fast, I don’t even remember getting home, showering, eating, or having an hour-long phone call with Lance, who calls on the pretense of seeing how I’m doing, only to then complain for an hour about how demanding Cassie can be.
In the morning, I’m woken by a rumbling car engine.
No way.
I fall off the couch and rush to the kitchen window, wiping my eyes frantically.
My stomach sinks.
Moving truck. Unfamiliar blue sedan in the driveway. Woman with bushy brown hair kindly giving instructions to three bearded men by the truck. Two strapping young guys carry a couch up the steps of the porch, front door wide open.
It’s official.
I have real new neighbors now.
“Nicole Berry,” she says warmly, greeting me later.
Yes, of course I go over and say hi. Why wouldn’t I? I’m not an animal.
But this time, I go without a welcome basket.
Or a toolbox to tame a yard full of scattered tools.
Or papaya.
She’s moving in with her two twenty-something sons. Both of them adorable in their own ways. One kind of sporty. The other intellectual. Both of them helpful and courteous. Friendly. Bright as can be. The perfect kind of neighbors.
I can’t fucking stand them.
“Is it weird?” asks Cash when I make it into the flower shop and instantly dump the news on the first set of ears I can find: his. “Having new people next door? Saying goodbye to the Valdezes?”
Goodbye to all but one of them.
One I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to.
“Let’s get busy,” I say, suddenly not wanting to talk about it.
Cash doesn’t push it further.
Today is just about as crazy as yesterday was.
We had no time to recover. I’m already out of certain stock, but it doesn’t seem to deter anyone at all from buying whatever the heck their heart (or Nadine’s secret directive, I’m still convinced) desires.
Cash and I maintain our routine that seemed to work yesterday: him at the register, me in the throng of chatty women, some of whom appear to have shown up just to talk with each other or catch up.
I always wondered what there can possibly be to catch up on when you live in such a small town and see each other every damned day.
Much later, when there’s only about three women left in the store, the door opens, and for whatever reason, the glass flings the early evening sunlight right into my eyes. I’m still blinking it away when the figure of a suited man comes into view.
Handsome. Maybe in his fifties. Goatee.
I know him.
But I don’t know how I know him.
When his eyes meet mine across the store, a kind and familiar smile spreads over his face. “Mr. Callahan,” he greets me, strolling calmly over. “What a pleasure it is to see you again.”
It’s been a long day already, and I’m still combing the filing cabinets of my tired brain as I stammer out, “Y-You too, sir.”
He picks up on my confusion right away. “Perhaps I’d be more recognizable with my sweet niece clinging to my leg.” He winks at me. “Oh, by the way, she still has that lovely flower you gave her by the elevators.”
Little niece. Elevators.
It clicks. “Bellamy Events,” I say with a snap. “Yes, of course! Wow. I’m so sorry for not recognizing you right away.”
“To be fair, all I did was press an elevator button,” he says.
I smile. “You were so kind and helpful to me that day … when I really needed it.”
“Was I? Total accident, I swear.”
I laugh at that. Then his name resurfaces. “Joseph, right?”
“Joseph, it is.” He extends a hand. “Nice to formally meet you. Though I will say, the most interesting people I’ve ever met were in elevators.” He peers around, maintaining a pleasant smile. “This is a cozier shop than I was expecting.”
“It’s a bit small,” I agree.
“No, not what I meant. Cozy is healing. Cozy is loving. Cozy is comfort. And what are flowers, but for healing, love, and comfort? Tell me …” He faces me suddenly. “Do you remember what flower you gave my niece that day? The name of it?”
I have to think way back to Grant’s order. “Waxflower … Pink waxflower.”
“She calls it her ‘fairy flower’.”
I chuckle. “That’s ten shades of adorable right there. And I can see it. Tiny little starry things scattered all over branching stems. They also have this sort of citrusy scent …”
“They sure do.”
I smile. “I hope things improved for her at school with the … um … mean girl situation.”